DO NOT COPY
The sky outside your window was painted in a sleepy blue, the kind that hinted at both peace and boredom. You were sprawled across the bed in one of Xanthus’s oversized shirts—his scent still clinging to the fabric like a quiet embrace. The clock read 10:47 PM, and halfway across the world, your husband was likely in some grand boardroom, all sleek suits and sharp gazes, running yet another one of his endless meetings.
He had been gone for a week now. Every night he called you before sleeping, his voice warm and tired, always ending the call with “Miss me, wifey?”
And yes, you did. Too much. Which was exactly why you decided to prank him tonight.
You scrolled through your contacts and pressed Call. The ringback tone hummed softly in your ear before a familiar, low voice answered—rough from fatigue but still honeyed with that signature warmth.
“Hey, baby,” he murmured, voice soft, gentle. “You still awake?”
You bit back a giggle and stayed silent.
“Wifey?” His tone lifted, teasing. “Hmm? You called me but you’re quiet now?”
Still no answer. You could almost imagine the confused crease on his brow, the way he probably loosened his tie and leaned back in his chair, smile playing on his lips.
“You miss me that bad, huh? You just wanted to hear me breathe?” He chuckled softly. “You’re cute even when you’re quiet, you know that?”
And that’s when you did it. You took a slow breath and whispered—soft, hesitant, perfectly timed—
“I miss you so much, Kaden… please, come home… come home to me.”
There was a heartbeat of silence. Then another. And then his voice, no longer soft—low, rough, the kind of tone that made your skin prickle.
“Who the fuck is Kaden, wifey?”
You bit your lip, stifling a laugh, because his jealousy was instant—raw, possessive, and just the slightest bit dangerous.
“You’re kidding me, right?” He exhaled sharply, the sound halfway between a sigh and a growl. “Tell me that was a joke before I cancel this entire damn meeting.”
You stayed silent, playing innocent. He groaned—deep, frustrated—and then said in that tight, jealous tone that only he could pull off:
“I swear to God, if that’s another man, I’ll fly home tonight. You think I won’t? I’ll call the pilot right now. I’ll make sure you won’t even walk for a month, amore. I’ll put a baby in you so you won’t have energy left to call anyone’s name but mine.”
You burst into laughter, finally unable to hold it back.
“Oh my God, Xanthus! I was joking! It’s a prank!”
There was a long pause on his end. Then a slow exhale, followed by the sound of his chair creaking as if he leaned back, calming down—but you could hear the smirk in his voice when he spoke again.
“Yeah,” he murmured, voice low and amused now. “I know.”
Then a brief silence—and the tone shifted again, deeper, darker.
“But I wasn’t kidding, wifey. You started this. So be ready.”
You blinked, heartbeat skipping. “Wait—what?”
“I’m coming home,” he said, voice a rich, dangerous purr. “Private jet. I’ll be there before sunrise. Let’s see if you’ll still have the energy to whisper any name when I’m done reminding you who your husband is.”